Read On
by Irony12
Summary: A one-shot, modern, slightly P&P fic that draws a line between novels and reality. Very Fluffy.


_**Read On: A One Shot**_

I work in a bookshop. I work in a high powered, discount, book store chain. That's how little dignity I have. I work for an establishment that exploits the thing I love most: the written word.

I, James Marcy, am a sell-out. And I hate myself for it.

And at this very moment, I'm so sick of this damn bookshop that I'm contemplating how best to burn it down. At first I considered setting fire to the magazine section, willing to watch the tabloids and their disgusting slander burn. But then I changed my mind. I decided I'd have to start with science fiction, because all the greasy kids who read that crap have probably left all sorts of chemicals on those books and they just might be explosive enough to burn the entire place.

Then I considered the cooking section. Cooking? I mean honestly, it's hardly even a genre! And as I sat there contemplating setting fire to every Steven Ambrose book that my old American History professor made me read, my musings were sadly interrupted.

"We all know that you could never burn the place down, so you might as well stop contemplating it." Tommy Tingley. Oh I should have known. Who else could perceive the minor tweak to the corner of my mouth that meant I was lost in a sea of anarchist dreams. Tommy dropped a volume of Douglas Adam's entire _Hitchhiker's_ series on the counter that I'd currently been leaning against. "Disgusting isn't it?" he asked, staring at the offending object. "It should be illegal to lump books together like this."

That's Tommy for you. Lover of all things Sci-Fi. Antagonist of all things commercial.

"Oh is that the new volume of _Hitchhiker's_?" a feminine voice asked in awe.

Tommy looked down at his Tolstoy-sized volume and scowled.

"I think she's talking to you," I pointed out, picking the book up off my counter and handing it to Tommy to distribute to the pretty blond coming our way.

Tommy's jaw just kind of dropped. For a man who secretly relishes in the disturbing romances of aliens and creatures of the imagination, you'd think that something as strange as a girl speaking to Tommy wouldn't be so shocking.

Nonetheless, Tommy was still floored at being addressed by someone so beautiful. All he could manage was to nod and hold the book out to her.

"Oh that's absolutely amazing!" she gushed, gently grabbing the huge book from him. "I requested it last week, but you guys were all out. Adams is my absolute favorite Sci-Fi writer."

Tommy blushed, coughed, and eventually spoke. "Yeah. M-mine too." Tommy looked up at the girl, checking out her features. "This is a good volume." I hid a smile. Moments before Tommy had been cursing the book. Amazing how a pretty face can change things so quickly.

I coughed and tried not to laugh out-right at Tommy. The guy had no game. He, like me, had spent too much of his life shelled up inside the protective barrier of a novel. It was so much easier for guys like James Bond and Robert Langdon. They always knew the right things to say. Conversation is so much harder than it seems in a book.

Tommy turned to me at my outburst, prepared to say something properly moronic and dorky, but was saved the effort of embarrassment by our squeaky little manager. "What are you guys doing?" said the voice of Slimy Robbie.

"Helping a customer," Tommy told the little man with a tone that said quite clearly "duh."

Robbie scowled at us both through his inch-thick glasses and backed away, still staring at us while he peddled backwards and right into a bookshelf. He quickly turned, apologized to the shelf and picked up all the books he'd knocked over.

"What a creepy little man," the blond girl said, still watching him as if he were the offspring of an elephant and giraffe.

"Yep," Tommy agreed.

I just coughed again, hoping to prevent the awkward silence that was lingering around the corner.

Tommy jumped and came to his senses, saying the first thing that came to his brain. "So is there anything that we really can help you with?"

The blonde's face lit up. "Oh yes!" she squeaked, suddenly looking as if she'd just forgotten that she had feet. "I'm here to see my sister. It's her first day."

"Sister? First day?" Tommy repeated, thoroughly confused.

I rolled my eyes. Tommy really is an idiot. "Is your sister the new music girl?" I asked, speaking for the first time. The blond jumped. I don't think she'd noticed I was there.

I was secretly quite excited to have a chance to mention Music Girl. I'd seen her this morning on my way in and held the door for her while she breezed past me with a quick "thanks". She was amazingly cute, wearing our customary green polo with a black long-sleeved shirt beneath, three silver bangles and a multi-colored scarf. Her cheeks were flushed from the brisk morning and she held a cup of Joe's coffee in one hand and had a set of iPod ear buds knotted around her neck.

I'd been hoping to get a bit of information about the new arrival, and had been itching all morning to go up to the CD section on the second story, but I'd been trapped behind the counter all day and the inability to discuss her presence with anybody had driven me to the same raving thoughts that Tommy had found me in just minutes before.

I ruffled my dark curls with supposed nonchalance that always came off well in the novels I read, but with the way the blond girl looked at me I felt more like a peacock ruffling its feathers.

"Yeah my sister's the new music girl," she agreed, eyeing me as if I were a three-headed human. The thought didn't seem too odd; the girl did read science fiction novels. "Have you guys met her yet?"

As I shook my head no, Tommy replied to the affirmative.

"What did you think of her?" she asked.

"Friendly," Tommy suggested, while my brain suddenly wrapped itself around the word beautiful.

"Yeah. That's Sam for you. She hardly ever shuts up."

_Sam._ This new word merely joined the sudden collection of words I'd acquired to descried the new music girl.

"Did you think she was pretty?" the blond continued. I wondered at such a question. It hardly seemed relevant, and far too upfront, but the way she observed Tommy I knew she was merely testing the waters with him. Was it possible that a girl as pretty as this blond was actually interested in Tommy the Imbecile?

Tommy shrugged. "She seemed more Sulley's type to me," he suggested.

_Good answer_, I thought, until I realized that the girl was looking at me. Oh right. _I'm_ Sulley. Sometimes I forget.

"Did you want to meet her?" she asked me.

Oh god, did I ever. I wanted nothing more, but Tommy was eyeing the girl as if he'd never let her out of his sights again and I was quite sure he'd refuse to take my spot on register. "Erm, not particularly," I muttered darkly. I didn't mean to sound dark. That's just my natural tone.

The blonde's face fell. She didn't seem impressed.

"Don't mind Sulley here. He doesn't like people in general. He's quite the brooding loner," Tommy jumped in. "Hence the name."

"Oh I get it," said a whole new voice. I knew that voice. That was the same voice that accompanies the beautiful girl. "Sulley. As in sullen."

Music Girl, Sam, walked up pushing her hair out of her face and revealing a single small braid amongst the mess of brown curls. "Do you get it yet, Kate?" she asked the blond.

Kate frowned for a second, then her face lit up and she finally understood. "Oh! Sullen! I get it."

"There, there girl," Sam said smiling at her sister and patting her lightly atop her head. She smiled at Tommy and greeted him easily. Then she looked up at me, held out her hand, and introduced herself as Sam.

While Sam explained to her sister that she just didn't think she'd have time to make it to lunch, I watched her. Her every movement spoke of zeal and revealed her personality. The way she moved her hands as she spoke, said that she had passion. The was the corners of her mouth were lifted into a permanent smile, said that she had hope. The way she pushed her hair out of her eyes every time it wandered astray, said that she was thoughtful (but don't ask me how it said that). And the way her eyes shone while she rambled on, well, that just told me that she was beautiful.

_Beautiful_. There was that word again. _Beautiful and way out of my league._

"So do you hate me now?" she concluded.

"No," I responded breathlessly caught up in her mannerisms, then blushed when I realized she was talking to her sister and not me. Oh god am I an idiot!

"I'll just eat lunch alone," said Kate, once again eyeing me as if I was an axe-wielding murderer.

"You know," said Tommy suddenly and so not smoothly, "I have a lunch break in like," he checked his nerdy and bulky digital watch, "three minutes."

I resisted the urge to hit my palm against my forehead. My best friend is such a dork. Although, I looked at Sam out of the corner of my eye, I'm not much better. And Kate seemed to buy into it all, and agreed to lunch with a complete stranger without hesitation. Perhaps Kate, too, is a bit of a dork.

After Kate and Tommy left, Sam looked at me with one of those horribly amused smiles. "I met you this morning," she pointed out. It seemed like such an obvious observation, I wondered why she bothered to state it at all.

I nodded, agreeing with her positively mundane sentence, but stared at my counter, observing the sickeningly monochromatic teal paneling.

"So then why did you just tell my sister that you didn't want to meet me?"

I blushed. Oh god. She was not supposed to have heard that. I shrugged, it was the only answer I could muster in my embarrassed state of tongue-tide-ness. I'm normally quite talkative, but the only word I could even warp my tongue around at the moment was _beautiful_ and I had to clamp down hard on my lips to not spit it out.

"Oh-kay," she breathed, too distracted to put up with a one-sided conversation, and began to turn away from me.

"Sam," I said unexpectedly, and she turned back. I was too distracted by the fact that I'd managed a single syllable to say anymore, and by the time I'd finished my mental celebration, she'd left.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day itching to go upstairs and impress Sam Pennet with my newly reacquired eloquence and possibly turn a good Shakespearian phrase, just too add to the awe of the situation, but I was still stuck behind my blasted counter. But Lady Luck held my name for the first time in my life, and Slimy Robbie eventually ordered me upstairs to check on the "cute new girl in the music section." Obviously, Robbie had hired her for her credentials.

I wondered upstairs and Sam seemed anything but frazzled. Actually, things seemed to be pretty good. "Hello," I said simply, not willing to let myself celebrate my jump from a whole monosyllable to a grand two syllable "hello."

"Well, what do you know, he speaks!" Sam said proudly, pulling headphones out of her ears. "I'm glad it was you and not that creepy Robbie guy. He kept peering around my shoulder all day and he smells strongly of Old Spice."

I smiled. She was happy to see me. No biggie. _Be cool. _"Yeah. He's a bit creepy," I said ordering my stomach to stop performing nauseating summersaults.

She shot me a look as if to imply that I too was bit creepy, and I did nothing to rectify her judgment.

"What are you listening to?" I asked instead.

Her eyes lit up in response to my inquisition and he quickly shoved an ear bud into my hand. "Listen. She's good."

I listened, because she'd told me to, not because I was particularly interested. It was a very slow song and too melodic and simple for my taste. The lyrics hardly even registered behind my brain. "Who is it?" I asked, yanking out the bud and handing it to her.

"Kate Walsh," she replied, scowling slightly. "And you didn't even bother to listen."

I returned her frown. "I did so."

"Well then you didn't care."

I wanted to tell her that it was hard to care about anything when she was so close, but that too seemed creepy and I reconsidered myself. "I don't like music much."

Sam looked as if I'd just punched her in the jaw. "You don't like music? How is that possible?" She jumped off her stool that sat behind her counter and rushed around the Alternative section, grabbing whatever came her way. Once she was finished collecting, she came back to the counter and grabbed me by the hand to lead me to the listening station.

My hand burned. If she wanted, she could make me do absolutely anything.

She held up the first CD. "Weezer," she said. "Kind of mainstream, but the Blue Album is still one of my favorites." She quickly handed me a pair of the bulky headphones and I jammed them on while she scanned the CD and scrolled through to track seven. "'Say It Ain't So'," she explained.

I shrugged. She was slightly put-out that I wasn't more impressed.

She scowled and grabbed her next album. "David Gray. 'White Ladder'," she shouted through my headphones and scanned that one too. "'This Year's Love.'"

It was a soft piano melody accompanied by scratchy-soft vocals. I shrugged again, kind of liking the song, but enjoying her appalled reaction so much more.

Now she was on a mission. "Ben Folds," she said holding out a third CD. I wondered how long I could get this to go on. She held up a CD with the picture of a funny-looking guy with glasses looking in a mirror.

This one too, I hardly bothered to like. But I smiled anyway and told her I did.

"You're lying," she pointed out immediately.

"Maybe." It was the weird how I suddenly felt so comfortable around her. Earlier I couldn't even speak, now I actually had the nerve to take the plunge. "But I was hoping that if I lied you'd get a pizza with me when we get off."

"Oh," the excitement provoked by the music slipped off her face and she set her CDs down beside her. "I don't think so."

Ouch.

"Why not? Because I don't like your music?"

Sam looked up and frowned, seeming slightly affronted. "No. Because I don't even know you."

"Oh." Well that was a good reason, I suppose.

She stopped and looked up at me through her curls and thick eyelashes. "But I'd be willing to get to know you."

* * *

Over the next few weeks, I basically forced Sam to "get to know me." Upon discovering that the only book Sam had ever voluntarily read was _Harry Potter, _I quickly forced her to read one book of my choosing. She agreed, as long as I really truly listened to one CD of her choosing.

So on Thursday I sent her home with Kurt Vonnegut and she sent me home with Dave Matthews (We'd both felt it was best to keep it simple for the first try).

On Wednesday, she'd returned to me _Slaughterhouse Five_ and I exchanged Dave Matthews for Oasis. I sent her strict instructions to check _The Old Man and the Sea_ out from her library.

She'd shown up on her Friday off, holding the book under my nose and scowling. "I read your war stories, now can't I have a bit of romance?" she asked.

"Only if you stop sending me home with sentimental alterna-rock," I replied.

Sam scowled and hugged her track jacket around her. "Oasis is not sentimental."

I rolled my eyes. She ordered me to find her another book while she perused her mental playlist for something that I might enjoy. I returned with _The Lovely Bones_ and she sent me off with Eric Clapton's entire Crossroads collection.

On Monday we finally met for pizza, to swap opinions, and I could only hope for a few heated glances. She'd enjoyed her book. I'd enjoyed my CDs. They reminded me of my father—she was confused as to how.

But our conversation far surpassed books and music. We discussed our mutual hatred for all things political and the odd path that had plopped us down in a book store in a dead-end town.

And this continued for some weeks. Without even realizing it I'd made friends with a girl that I'd meant to pursue for something completely different. We spoke easily, and I convinced her quite thoroughly that I was capable of much more than monosyllables. Eventually, I also learned to listen as she spoke and not get caught in her graceful gestures.

I started to hate work less and less. Going to the book shop invoked less thoughts of hostility and more stomach-turning butterflies. I couldn't help but feeling that I was falling a little bit more in love with her everyday.

On March 12, we had run out of books for her to read.

We did something we never would have done normally. We went to the bookshop on our day off.

She looked so beautiful as she read the summary of the latest Phillipa Gregory novel and I didn't think I could stand it much longer. I didn't think I could be the Gilbert Blythe to her Anne of Green Gables, waiting forever to finally get her.

"Who's Gilbert Blythe?" she asked me, looking up as if responding to my thoughts. I blushed. Oh god! She really was responding to my thoughts.

"Um. No one?" I suggested.

"Did I tell you that Kate's thinking about moving in with the Trekkie?" she asked, willing to politely overlook my misstep, just like she always did when I said something stupid.

"Wow." Kate and Tommy had gotten serious. And I'd been so caught-up in Sam that I'd hardly noticed.

She looked up at me. "So I suppose that makes her his Trillian to his Arthur."

I smiled at her.

"Her Romeo to his Juliet. Her Robbie to his Cecilia."

Odds were that I'd probably kiss her before she could finish her next sentence.

"Her Knightley to his Emm—"

Wow. I'm hardly ever right about these kinds of things. Although I didn't interrupt her with a kiss. "No. She can't be. That one's ours."

She scowled. "Why do we get one? We're not toget—"

Ok. That time I did it. _Finally._

"But we should be," I said as I reluctantly pulled away from her unresponsive lips.

I'd taken the plunge for the second time. Why did I get the feeling I was to be rejected again?

"No," she said slowly, breathing funny, as if she'd been pelted in the chest with a brick or possibly the complete _Hitchhiker Guide to the Galaxy._

Rejected again. This time it hurt even more. I thought that maybe it was me that'd been hit by the _Hitchhikers_.

But it only hurt for a second before Sam made up for it all, kissing me with enough tension that it seemed to have been delayed for far too many months, and enough passion to make up for years that hadn't even happened.

This time she smiled as we pulled away. "There was far too much sexual tension between us. Plus, you were rude when we first met. I'd have to be your Elizabeth to your Darcy."

And she kissed me again. We probably would have continued as such for quite some time had Slimy Robbie not found us there making out in front of the Jane Austen section.

But oh well. I'd discovered that the best cure for my pyromaniac tendencies was just to kiss Sam.

And no book can teach you that.

* * *

_Sure it's not exactly Jane Austen relevant, but what do I care? Fluff belongs under all categories._


End file.
